


To Himling: Part Eighteen

by vetiverite



Series: To Himling [18]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Brain Injury, Brothers, Coma, Durin Family, Durin Family Angst, Durin Family Feels, Durincest, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Dwarven Politics, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Espionage, Gentle Sex, Ghost Thorin, Ghost Thrain, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, Intrigue, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seizures, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, Tauriel? Who's Tauriel?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:07:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vetiverite/pseuds/vetiverite
Summary: At a solemn late-summer rite, the Durins fast while their guests feast-- and in the darkness, a sacrifice is pursued.
Relationships: Fíli & Kíli (Tolkien), Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien), Nori (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Ori (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: To Himling [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429636
Comments: 25
Kudos: 15





	1. Lesson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linane/gifts).



> I'm posting this a bit differently than usual because I'm still working on the last section of Part 18, which is proving a bit of a bear. So enjoy the first eight chapters while I catch up with the rest....
> 
> This is for Linane, who is both fountain of inspiration and support... and patron saint of patience!

In the days before dragons, Khazâd won fair fame for their generosity. Wealth being Mahal’s holy will for his people, it followed that they should give as lavishly as they received. _Everyone feasting, no one left wanting—_ that was the custom until Smaug delivered the bill. 

Forced thereafter to beg for thin copper on ground once thickly sown with silver and gold, Durin’s Folk learned a grim new economy _._ From their despair grew Slaughter-Night, or the Night of the Kill, or simply _il-lomil—_ The Night, as if no other existed.

Dís thought it fitting that her sons learn of hunger from the one best known for easing it. So Fenja sat young Fíli and Kíli down in the kitchen for a retelling of the lore.

_Do you know where Rhûn is?_ she began.

Fíli nodded. He’d seen the name written on Thorin’s many maps.

_Your eighth-great-grandfather Thráin owned it and everything in it,_ declared Fenja. _Elk on the plains; boar and deer in the forest— all of it Thráin’s. Who hunted there?_

Fíli – followed by Kíli, who watched him closely – shrugged. _Us?_

_No. We were too busy building Azsâlul'abad. Think again._

_Men?_

_Yes. We hired them to hunt for us. Trackers and archers—_

Kíli sat up straight.

_—the best in the world, and butchers to dress and deliver the meat. Mountains of it! Did we eat it all?_

_No?_ Fíli ventured.

_Of course we didn’t. The bowmen and the butchers needed to eat. The laborers and craftsmen and servants, too._ Fenja rose and stirred the porridge bubbling over the fire. _We fed them all in those days. We could afford it._

_But about Slaughter-Night,_ Kíli prompted. The porridge looked just about done. The sooner Fenja finished this story…

_I’m getting there, Greedy!_ Fenja chuckled. _Every year, the herds needed culling. That’s when you have too many of something, and you make the number smaller._

The brothers traded skeptical looks. _What’s wrong with too many?_ countered Fíli.

_Elk and deer and boar eat a lot. Then they make children, and_ they _eat a lot. Too much eating; not enough to be eaten. You see?_ Fenja snatched the cauldron off of its crane and set it on a flat stone. _Look at what’s in our pantry. You two can’t eat it all; for two little Khazâd, it’s too much. For the whole household, it’s just enough. But if we all eat everything…_

_It becomes nothing._ Fíli began to nod. _Nothing for everyone._

_You’re catching on!_ Fenja dished up two bowls of porridge and stuck wooden spoons upright in them before handing them over. As she served herself, she continued her lecture. _To keep the herds strong, the bowmen hunted the animals that mightn’t make it through the winter. Then the butchers spent all night getting the meat ready—to cure, to smoke, to salt, to eat. That’s why we call it Slaughter-Night. And then what did we do with the meat?_

_Gae i’ a’ey!_ cried Kíli around a rather ambitious mouthful of porridge.

_Yes, we gave it away._ Fenja spooned up a more decorous portion and blew it cool. _To Khazâd and Men, even to fur-folk if they wanted it. Not to Elves, of course— but then, they prefer to eat flowers and moonlight._

Fíli snickered.

_People lined up on Slaughter-Night for the shares that would carry them through winter. Until…?_ Fenja waited.

Fíli hit upon it first. _Smaug?_

_Yes. We who used to give away meat then had to beg, borrow, or steal it, else we starved. We prayed to the Maker to deliver our people from famine, and he did. But he told us never to forget those we once fed, and always to give them their share first._ Fenja smiled. _On_ il-lomil, _Durin’s children do the hunting and fast while others feast._

Swallowing hard, the two little Khazâd lowered their bowls to their knees. Fíli in particular looked very grave. By now, he knew what he would become, and he wanted to say the right thing.

_When does the fast start?_ he asked.

_For you? Not quite yet._ Fenja motioned to him to eat again. _Next year, when you come of age._

_Me, too,_ announced Kíli, blithely licking the back of his spoon.

_No, Cub, you have to wait,_ Fíli reminded him. _I’ll let you have my share. Maybe it will help you grow bigger._


	2. Tradition

This year, Slaughter-Night took on a harsh new meaning.

Kíli stood at the butcher-block, fingers nervously tracing its deep blade-scars. _You, you promised w-we would get meat from the towns,_ he reminded his mother.

Dís looked up from the household ledgers. _I_ did _promise,_ she told Kili. _And we’ve forbidden hunting for sport thus far. But our people swore an oath to observe_ il-lomil _. Can we neglect a sacred vow for the sake of one doe and her children?_

_If that doe is you, then yes,_ remarked Fenja, who sat winding yarn. She’d just started the boys on finger-knitting, and their first efforts had left her with a snarled mess on her hands.

_Zanid and I are tied to Dajnûna,_ Fíli told his mother, taking Kíli’s hand in both his own. _Zanid especially—remember what happened during ale week? We must find a way._

Dís buried her face in her hands. _I don’t know what to tell you,_ she moaned. _Dáin promised us supplies, but where is he— let alone Gandalf, or Ninur? Every bird I send brings back its message unopened. What else can I do?_

_Go fishing_.

Three Durins turned to gape at Fenja, who calmly continued to wind yarn. _You show me where it says the kill has to be a deer,_ she continued. _I doubt even Ninur could dig up runes to prove it. Furthermore, most of our visitors have never seen the ocean. They’ll be too excited to quibble about tradition._

_But you know the lore; the offerer must catch the offering!_ Dís exclaimed. _You can’t hire someone to do it—_

_You won’t have to, though you may have to rent the nets._ Fenja jabbed her finger at Kíli. _This one here has spent hours reading about it. Surely he knows what to do!_

Clouded only a moment ago, Kíli’s eyes began to glimmer.

_What, Zanid?_ asked Fíli. _What is your thinking?_

_The Great Cave,_ was all smug Kíli would say.

Source of cooling seawater for Thorinutumnu’s foundries, the Great Cave opened its maw to the tide at the inlandmost point of the bay below. Twice every moon, laborers opened a massive sluice so that the cave could drink its fill and flood the underground reservoirs. The sluice’s mouth was fitted with a fine wire mesh to keep out—

_Whitebait!_ guessed Fíli— correctly.

Chased landward by mackerel, teeming schools of these tiny silver fish sometimes took refuge in the Great Cave. Kíli thought they could be gathered— and Gimli’s mother Minaen agreed. 

_We Harlindoners catch whitebait every summer. What say you, Hinaen?_ she called to her sister. _Too late in the season?_

_I shouldn’t think. Quick, lad!_ Hinaen challenged Kíli from her seat at the spice-mill. _Tell me how you mean to lure them!_

_I’d use foxfire,_ Kíli replied. _Thh…the fish won’t be able to help themselves. It bewitches them._

Hinaen nodded. Blue Mountain miners had long made use of the green-glowing fungi that fed on decaying wood. A bouquet or two of foxfire lowered into the water would surely draw in the fish.

_And then?_ Minaen prodded. _Luring them’s one thing; how would you_ catch _them?_

Kíli spoke just as he pieced it together in his mind, slowly and carefully. _When we open the sluice, the ww..weight of the water traps the fish against the mesh. When we close it, the fish free themselves and swim out of the cave. If we kept them from leaving the cave, we could catch them._

_How?_

_Maybe a gate-net across the mouth? Once the sss..sluice is closed, we scoop the fish out in hand-nets… or seine for them once the tide begins to ebb._

The sisters caught each other’s eye. First Hinaen and then Minaen nodded, and Kíli’s shoulders dropped in relief.

_The catch is best eaten then and there. No use hauling it home._ Hinaen’s brow wrinkled. After a moment, she emerged from her ponderings with a smile on her lips. _Right! Here’s how you do. Pitch tents up on the headland; build cookfires down on the berm. Once the catch is in, haul it to the beach and start the feast. When all have had their fill, lead them up the footpath and put them to bed. Of course, some’ll have to stay bright to keep the others from going over the cliff—_

_That’s up to the host,_ said Minaen, cutting her eyes at Kíli.


	3. Prayer

For all that Durins sneer at Firebeard superstitions, they themselves are far from immune. Dís felt great misgivings after Kíli’s collapse. He’d worn the kin-talismans— why had the ancestors withheld their protection? Did they feel neglected? Affronted? Dís _had_ called Thráin an old bastard…

To be on the safe side, she cobbled together an altar of odds and ends – vambraces, chess pieces, buckles, books – but these kept tumbling off the shelf as if bent on escape. Taking this unrest as a hint, she moved the whole into Thorin’s shrine room. Now all of her departed dwelt as they did in the halls everlasting—in one place, and at peace.

Kneeling before them today, Dís felt stiff toward her father and shy of her mother. She instead turned to Frerin and Ganin, who would not mind if she cut to the chase.

_These people are picking us clean as a bone,_ she told them. _Asking them to stay through_ _Êrâz Nar was only proper, but if they don’t_ _magically pull more bread out of their pockets… or if Dáin doesn’t come soon with supplies…_ She wrung her hands. _We may soon be sunk, so please take pity on your kin._

She did not know the deed had already been done.

At sundown, three covered wagons rumbled up to the gate, pulled by teams of sturdy hinnies. Five leather-cloaked Khazâd – one man and four women, all but one golden-haired – held the reins. As soon as they came to a full stop, they jumped down and cheerfully began to haul sacks, crates, bushels and barrels from the wagon-backs.

Summoned to the courtyard, Dís pressed both palms to her cheeks. _Great Mahal! How did you guess?_

_We didn’t,_ Ganin’s father Hrím called out. _We crossed paths with Dáin. He did not want you to wait._

One by one, the women came forward to sweep Dís and Fenja into their arms. Thora, Ganin’s mother; his sister Gudrun and her _yasthur_ Anukh; dark-haired Deilis, Bofur’s sister. Dís embraced them with all her strength, nearly lifting Gudrun off the ground.

_We’re welcome here, I think,_ grinned Hrím.

_Ever and always!_ Dís strove to recall the last time Ganin’s kin had set foot on her mountain. Was it really as long ago as his burial? They dwelt at such a distance...

_Dís,_ Thora laid a hand on her sleeve. _Your good brother…_

_I know. We’ll speak of it later,_ Dís said firmly _. Baths and food and rest come first. You’ll have my rooms, of course; Fenja won’t mind sharing._

_Will this not cause strife?_ Hrím inquired. _There are some folk here closer to you by blood who have not been honored so._

_Do you mean Glóin and Óin? They loved Ganin too well and remember you too fondly to complain._ Dís threw one arm around her father-in-law’s shoulders. _Perhaps we’ll all sing together again, as we did in the glad old days._


	4. Ranks

Hrím’s caution was not without cause. He knew that others, if not Óin or Glóin, might question his seat at Dís’ table or his right to parley with Dáin. Gimli (who grasped the lore of kinship, but not the art of tact) had blurted out his own thoughts on the matter at breakfast. Again it fell to Fenja to explain things.

_We Khazâd come in three stripes—royal, noble, and common,_ she began. _Which am I?_

Gimli looked up from the ledger in which he’d been making a detailed inventory of Dain’s gifts. As Fíli loved names and Ori loved letters, he loved tallies and lists. Fenja’s question had broken his concentration. _You’re noble,_ he replied.

_Yes. What are Ori, Dori, and Nori?_

A pained frown. _Common?_

_No! They may look a bit rough, but they are as noble as you and I. What makes us so?_

_We can trace our lineage on our father’s side back to one of the Kings!_

_Yes. Though Mahal knows our mothers make us all, only the fathers count_. _We’d reckon our worth differently if I had my way,_ muttered Fenja _. I’ve known many a noble Khuzd’s son act like a donkey in a byre._

Gimli quickly took his elbows off the table. 

Fenja placed a large head of garlic on the table and pointedly handed her pupil a knife. _I need that peeled and minced fine. Now, the King and his Queen and their children are royal. The King’s other relatives are noble, as are the tribal chieftains and their kin. Everyone else is common— but that doesn’t mean poor or untalented. Everyone has a gift. What’s yours?_

Gimli preened a bit. _I’m not too bad with an axe, but at_ dice _, well—_

_Dice may earn you silver, but an axe will save your life._ Another head of garlic bounced on the tabletop. _Here’s a question to stump you, book-master: has the child of a common father ever become King Under the Mountain?_

This drew a derisive snort. _Of course not!_

_Are you sure?_ A slow grin curled Fenja’s lips. Her next question only tightened the screws. _What do you know of Thorin the First?_

_He was the ninth King of our folk… Heir of Thráin the First… sire of Glóin the Word-Wise… oh! They called him the Widower King because Queen Wyn died of fever, and Thorin One-Son because Glóin was his only child—_

Triumph lit Fenja’s eyes. _No, he wasn’t. Hear me now!_ _After Wyn died, King Thorin loved Hríma, a warrior in his army. Though mighty, she was common, so he couldn’t marry her. Instead, he recognized their son – yes,_ their son! – _as his own. Horin was the boy’s name, and he_ _and Glóin were the best of brothers. But you’ve never heard this, have you?_

_Never!_ cried Gimli, newly indignant. What else had his teachers not told him?

_Of course not. The elders would have gladly spirited the child off to Far Harad, never to be spoken of again. But Thorin made sure that his side-son’s line remained. Horin’s twice-great-granddaughter Thyra married Garin, son of Náin the Second and brother of Dáin the First. Their daughter’s name was Thora._ Fenja waited for the penny to drop.

In his excitement, Gimli drove the point of his knife into the tabletop. _Thora! But that’s Ganin and Gudrun’s mother!_

_And Hrím’s wife, and Fíli and Kíli’s grandmother, yes._

_But…_ Gimli pulled the knife-tip out and sheepishly attempted to rub the nick shut with his finger. _I mean, it’s obvious_ now _. Thora and Hrím are tribute-names for Thorin and Hríma_. _But Hrím is a commoner, which means Ganin…_ He glanced up in distress. _Fíli and Kíli are_ commoners?

_They would have been, had Thráin not raised Ganin’s rank so that he could marry Dís. And if Thorin hadn’t also named his Heir by decree, Fíli would be no different than you._

Gimli shot Fenja a crafty look. _A donkey in a byre?_

_Ah!_ Fenja clapped her young assistant on the back. _Comedy—_ that’s _your gift._


	5. Assembly

After supper, the descendants of Durin gathered in the great room.

Around the long oaken table ranged Dís and her sons, Fenja and Bhurin, Óin and Glóin and their families, Dori and his brothers, Fjôl and his children, and at last, Thora. Though both descendants of Náin, Fjôl and Thora had never met before. Naturally, they sat next to one another so that they might whisper kin-talk inbetween the business at hand—namely, il-lomil.

Gimli had volunteered to take notes, and Ori had lent him paper and pen for the task. Here is what he wrote:

> _ WHO WILL SEE TO WHAT. _
> 
> _Aunt D and Fenja – the camp_
> 
> _Mother and Aunt H – the fires_
> 
> _Kíli and ME – the nets_
> 
> _Jera, Uri, Ruri, and Eri – the shoreline_
> 
> _Fíli, Ori, Dori, and Ari – the forest_
> 
> _Bhurin, Hrím and Gudrun – the gate_
> 
> _Father, Uncle O and Anukh– the house_
> 
> _Nori, Fjôl, and Thora – the road_
> 
> _Barin, Farin, and Deilis – the town_

_Why are Thora’s people taking on sentinel duty?_ Gimli whispered aside to Fenja. _They’re not Durins_.

 _They want to do it in Ganin’s memory,_ she replied. _Now, ssh._

Dís’ next words provoked amazement around the table: _The elders mean to join us at the shore._

 _Oi!_ Minaen gaped at her kinswoman. _Tell me you jest!_

 _I had rather hoped they would spend the night in retreat at the lodge,_ sighed Dís. _But Slaughter-Night is a serious affair requiring the oversight of serious people. Navrin cannot permit a free-for-all._

Minaen took a deep, dramatic gulp of ale and drew her wrist across her mouth. _Too bad,_ she mumbled. _Even half of one would do him good._

___________________

In front of the family, Kíli kept his peace. But later, alone with Fíli, he poured out his misgivings. 

_All of this planning for Dajnûna’s sake, and_ _I www…won’t get to guard her now,_ he whispered, shifting to find a more comfortable position astride the parapet. _I ought to go with you._

 _It will be all right, ‘ibinê,_ said Fíli. As he spoke, he kept his eyes on the night sky. Shooting-star season had arrived; every streak of light that crossed the heavens was a spark struck on the anvil of creation by Mahal’s holy hammer. The more one spotted, the greater one’s luck.

 _Dajnûna is as much my charge as she is yours,_ Fíli resumed. _I won’t let anyone harm her._

_It’s d…dark at night._

_It always is; that’s what makes it night. I can see in the dark as well as any. The look you’re giving me this very moment is blacker than the sky._

Nettled, Kíli shot back, _It’s reckless to go alone._

_Alone? With Ori, Dori, and Ari by my side?_

_Take Gimli, too._

_No, he’ll want to be with his favorite cousin._

Sullen, pleading: _And his fff…favorite cousin wants to be with you._

 _Yasthûnê._ Fíli swung one foot over the parapet so that he straddled it, mirroring his brother. He took Kíli’s hand. _You’re troubled over something more than the question of which of us watches over Dajnûna. What is it?_

 _I don’t know._ Kíli’s eyes searched the line of treetops which snuffed out the stars behind. His voice sounded faint, helpless. _I just, I wish Tharkûn were here._ He leaned forward to rub the tip of his nose against the scar arching over Fíli’s ear, whispering as he did so, _Vow to me right now that you’ll take care._

Fíli pressed his temple against Kíli’s. _If my liege demands it, you know my vow is his_.


	6. Bellwether

On the morning of _il-lomil_ , Fenja observed Thorinutumnu’s cats pawing at their own ears. Kíli’s bees left and returned to the skep early, flying low to the ground. An hour shy of noon, Bhurin announced that the aspens had shown their “whites”—the leaves’ pale undersides exposed by a rising gust. When the first cloud-tower appeared, it took no one by surprise.

Dís knew nothing of all this. Beset by nerves over the coming rites, she’d slept poorly, dreamt oddly, and woken with a tender head. For all she saw the sky that day, she may as well have been Thráin’s girlchild again, trapped underground.

By half-past noon, the thunderheads had gifted their rain and moved out to sea. Bhurin, Stóin, and Harr met on the high parapet to study the horizon with a scope. They squinted through the crystal lens, tested the wind, sucked their teeth, and forecast a fine night.

Come two o’clock, all who meant to go were ready, and all who were staying saw them to the gate. Two met and lingered in the middle, studying each other.

Kíli had woken wet-eyed from a vision so real-seeming he could have sworn oaths upon it. Dajnûna’s fawn had been grazing under a massive spruce. Dwalin loomed nearby, and Kíli watched him anxiously, expecting to be called a sissy for not taking the shot. But the scarred warrior only nodded at the fawn and asked, _What will you name it?_ For some reason, the question pierced Kíli through like a lance. Asleep or awake, he could not remember ever feeling so sad.

_I don’t know,_ he told his older cousin. _Is it right to give something a name when you’re not sure it will live?_

The real Dwalin was notoriously leery of sentiment, but in the dream, he looked upon Kíli with gentleness. _I think giving it a name will make it live,_ he smiled. _It will hear your call and know you don’t want it to go._

_Umdamê, then. It comforts me._ So Kíli turned back to the fawn, reassured that he’d not be thought weak for loving it.

He felt the same anxious love now, looking at his _yasthûn_. Fíli’s braid was all askew like a child’s; he’d tried to do it himself, and stray gold filaments sprang out every which way. He was so beautiful it made Kíli’s heart hurt. Even to imagine harm coming to him…

In childhood, the brothers had watched from their window as great fleets of thunderclouds sailed over the ocean. Such tempests could not be turned back from their goal; one could only brace for their arrival. Now Kíli felt the same sense of helpless fate. Something immense and powerful traveled toward their mountain. If only he could see further, he could tell for certain what it was…

Fíli picked up his brother’s hand and found it cold and heavy, as when he left his body. _Does your dream still make you uneasy, ‘ibinê?_

Kíli’s voice sounded odd, distant. _Dwalin’s coming._

_Is that not good? He’s our kinsman._

_He wouldn’t come if there wasn’t trouble._

_He’ll aid us, then._ Fíli’s thumb smoothed over his brother’s knuckle _. And I’d rather Dwalin come on trouble’s tail than for trouble to come by itself._

Kíli gazed at him, intent and serious. Then, abrupt: _Share with me, Umdamê._

_A new name for me, is that?_

_Yes. Share with me._

_All right, Boss-man,_ Fíli teased. But he was quick to obey; he’d had seen the salt streaks on Kíli’s cheeks when he woke.


	7. Wilderness

Fleeing Azsâlul’abad eight-score years ago, Thrór hoped to lead his folk westward on the Old Forest Road. After all, it was _their_ road, built by _their_ ancestors— but it ran through _Thranduil’s_ wood, and Thranduil would not let them pass. Thrór and his people were then forced to trudge all the way around Mirkwood to cross the Anduin further south.

At Lórien, Thrór bent his knee on the east bank while the Witch stood silent on the west. He begged to follow the Nimrodel through _her_ wood and thence press onward to Imlêktharkh. She, too, rebuffed him. Once again, his folk were driven away. Southward they straggled past the jeering ents of Fangorn, finally crossing Anduin at the Great Falls. 

In Edoras, King Fréaláf offered Thrór five nights’ rest and some kindly advice: _Stick to open country._ _Trees and tree-dwellers do not seem to favor your folk._

Dunland’s hills bore no trees, and its inhabitants no grudges. The living was poor and rough yet honest, and the exiles gladly set down their burdens. But then Thrór disappeared, leaving Thráin to lead them first into a costly war, and then west to an unknown fate.

Arriving in Khagal’abad, Thráin could not delve into the mountain fast enough. Then he, like Thrór, disappeared; perhaps it was a mercy. To see his folk living in the woods like _bloody Elves_ , to find Kaminzabdûna – the Lady of the Earth – brazenly placed right alongside Mahal on their altars would have finished him long before Sauron did.

Years and years passed. Gift upon gift the forest gave: fuel for fire, game for the table, much bounty and much beauty. Tales of axe-scarred angry ents and the dread Witch of Lórien now served only to entertain dwarflings on blustery winter nights. Two such youngsters grew up happy and safe under the boughs… and one spring day, with only the greenwood as their witness, they gave away their hearts…

Not a single tree grew on Himling. Thistle and heather, clover and gorse, angelica and sorrel: these it offered, but no trees. Fíli and Kíli would not mind the lack. All their lives, they never honored any but one forest— _their_ forest, the one they shared, the one where their love was born.

___________________

As he and his friends descended the mountain, a familiar eagerness quickened Fíli’s heart. Ahead, Dori swung his arms and took in deep draughts of rain-sweet air. Behind, Ori and Ari laughed softly over some private jest. All around them bloomed chicory and ladylace; wisps of milkweed silk floated across their path like snow.

When they came to the fallen tree, Fíli paused, remembering spring and Kíli’s oustretched hand. Beyond this mark Dajnûna lived, and he wanted to hurry to her.

Chicory and milkweed gave way to red-cap, lichen, and purseflower. From overhead came the doleful _Qua?_ of a lone crow. Fíli raised his eyes, seeking a glimpse of shining black plumage among the branches. _There_ — perched on a high chestnut bough, watching them pass beneath. Again it inquired, _Qua?_ and Fíli smiled. He expected no message, for Khagal’abad crows rarely lend themselves to others’ errands. But Dwarves are fond of all manner of bird-kind, and so he called back, _Qua!_

Ori and Dori also called, but Ari remained silent and suspicious. Ori nudged him. _Don’t you have crows on your mountain?_

_Not friendly ones,_ Ari replied. _What other wild beasts should I prepare to greet? I wouldn’t like to meet a boar at night. Or a bear._

_This wood is thick with them,_ straight-faced Fíli replied. _Like blackflies. You’ll be swatting them off._

_Don’t listen to him,_ Dori volleyed back. _Boar rarely stray from the oakwoods near Lhûn. They favor acorns, you see. In good years, they grow so fat they can barely run from the hunter. As for bear…_

_East of the Shire,_ Ori chimed in. _Great, savage things. So clever, they keep their own bees._

This drew a grin from Ari who – though he’d met neither boar nor bear nor Beorn – still knew a joke when one crossed his path.

___________________

Sunset approached. The birch trunks shone silver in the deepening violet shade, and fireflies flew up from the loam like Mahal’s holy embers.

In a grove of young alders, the four halted and slung their packs down. From these they pulled tunics and hoods dyed with walnut gall so as to permit their wearers to melt into the night. Around his ankle, each strapped a bronze bell to signal his movements.

_Why do we not arm ourselves?_ Ari asked.

_This may have once been a hunter’s wood, but it lies under the hand of the Lady,_ Dori explained. _All that walks here is protected— even the poachers. We must stop them from hunting; that can be done with stealth instead of steel._

Ari plucked his cloak ties as if playing a lyre. _What if they’re stalking a deer that doesn’t have the blessing mark?_

_It’s sacred,_ Dori told him firmly. _Mark or no._

Ari shrugged. By his tribe’s reckoning, beasts had no souls. If they could not _work_ – carry, pull, guard, hunt, or give milk – one ate their meat and that was that. But he acquiesced, thinking, _Another one’s mountain, another one’s rule._

_What calls will you use for danger?_ Fíli prompted.

_Saw-whet, as usual,_ replied Ori.

_Great owl,_ said Dori.

_Em…_ Ari hesitated. _Nighthawk?_

Fíli nodded. _Raven for me. Remember, if you see flat meadow, you’ve come to the edge of the wood. Either follow it around or turn back in. Wherever you are at dawn, walk toward the light sky. We’ll find each other._ He touched Ori’s arm. _Time for last bread._

Standing in a tight huddle, the friends devoured the plain rolls Fenja had tucked into Ori’s pack. There would be no more to eat until the next eve. Watching the others tear off morsels from their share and place them on the ground, Ari followed suit. It was the ritual gift to the hungry of the earth, signaling indifference to one’s own need— the same here as on his home mountain back east. 

_How different we Khazâd are from place to place,_ he thought. _And yet how well we fit together wherever we meet!_


	8. The Night of the Kill

Living and working so deep within the earth, Khazâd sharpen their sight on darkness like a blade on a whetstone. Even though Fíli and Kíli had not grown up underground, Mahal had made their eyes keen at night. That is how, even in pitchblack shadow, Fili caught sight of Dajnûna’s fawn.

The tiny creature lay curled up tight in the underbrush, muzzle tucked against dappled haunch, dark eyes gleaming faintly. Deer often leave their offspring safe in hidden hollows while they themselves graze; so Dajnûna had entrusted her child to the blessed Lady of the Earth, whose hand had drawn Fíli to this spot.

He froze at once and stilled his breath. The cool air brushing his cheeks and lips told him that he was downwind of the fawn; his scent would not trouble it overmuch. Still, his nearness might, and not for all of Erebor’s gold would he wish to frighten it.

_(oh, beautiful thing, Lady protect you)_

Nearby – very near! – a crackling sound. A flicker of white hovering in mid-air: Dajnûna’s blessing sign.

Normally, a doe would charge to defend her fawn, but this one made no such move. All summer long, she’d spied upon the two young Khazâd who roamed her wood. They behaved honorably, stepping with care and always maintaining a respectful distance from her. Besides, they spent most of their time curled together in the grass, nuzzling each other. What threat could two such soft-eyed creatures pose?

Tonight brought the light-colored one to her, minus his mate. One slow footstep at a time, he backed away so as not to block her from reaching her child. The fawn lifted its head to be nosed and nudged, then dropped it again, calmed by its mother’s unconcern. 

_Zanid will be so happy,_ Fíli thought. He wondered if another fawn waited elsewhere. If a doe has more than one, she likes to hide them separately, under different—

_(THOCK)_

Dajnûna reared, spun, and bolted away.

For several seconds, Fíli stood dazed, unable to fathom what had just occurred. He’d felt a puff of air against his neck and sensed an object pass by him at heart-level, like a bat banking too close in pursuit of a damselfly. The speed of it had torn the serenity of the forest like cloth and left the atmosphere thrumming. 

He glanced to his right and saw an arrowshaft – still vibrating – lodged deep in a nearby trunk.

To an experienced warrior, no foe is hidden. Judging from the arrow’s pitch and the depth to which it had penetrated the wood, Fíli knew precisely from what height, distance, and direction the archer had fired. Moreover, the dimensions of the shaft and its style of fletching betrayed its owner’s identity.

_Khuzd,_ thought Fíli. _It’s a Khuzd— hunting in MY wood on_ il-lomil.

He tore the bell from his ankle and took off at a run.


	9. Prey

_I could twist your head off your shoulders like an apple off a branch._

So said Dori, his powerful stonecutter’s arm crooked under the poacher’s chin. To friends and kin he was _Dori Just-Right_ , finicky about the quality of the tea he drank and the thread he used for mending. But every so often he reacquainted them with his might-and-main. It did not do to forget.

 _Answer when the King bids you,_ he now demanded of the stranger limp against his chest. _Why are you here?_

 _For meat,_ the Khuzd croaked. At a rough prompt from Dori’s elbow, he rephrased himself. _For meat, my lord. To feed my family._

Something about the stranger’s nasal drawl pricked at Fíli’s memory. Only one landscape produced so flat and featureless an accent. _From the sound of it, you left them hungry back in Rhûn,_ he countered. _You came an awful long way for meat._

A pause, full of silent calculation. Then, in a forced Blue Mountain lilt: _Nooo, no, m’lord! My poor fam’ly and I— we live just down the gully north of—_

 _No, you don’t._ _If you did, you’d know never to enter this wood._ As casually as he could, Fíli picked bits of dry leaf off of his cloak. Upon discovering a rent in the fabric – earned during a fierce tussle with the stranger – he let out a rueful hiss.

Thank Mahal for Dori! Summoned by Fíli’s raven-scream, he’d strode into the clearing, hoisted the startled intruder to his feet, and slapped him once and smartly across the mouth as if he were no more than a misbehaving child. Then he folded him into a neat headlock so that Fíli could search him for hand-weapons. What little care he’d taken to hide them!

At last Fíli snatched up the bow and broke it over his knee in front of its owner’s sullen eyes. _I know every soul on this mountain,_ he declared. _We don’t take kindly to outsiders. Will we cross paths with any more of your so-called family here tonight?_

_None, my lord._

_Then go back home and stay there, Rhûn-lander. You’re not cut out for my mountain._

_At least spare me a light,_ said the stranger, reverting back to an accent as flat and featureless as the country which had shaped it. _I’ll lose my way in the dark._

Fíli made a stealthy motion, reaching across his own torso towards a non-existent axe-loop. The stranger stiffened and struggled, then grew still again when no blade appeared. 

_He saw me reach, though I stand in shadow,_ mused Fíli. _His eyes are as keen as mine._

_Escort our neighbor up to the road,_ he directed Dori _. Let Nori ask him about his home life._

_What a treat that conversation will be!_ Dori chuckled as he frog-marched his prisoner away into the night.

___________________

Under a young oak a short distance away from Dajnûna’s fawn, Fíli collapsed onto his knees in the loam. In truth, he had no choice. His strength had utterly quit him, yet a steady drumbeat of anger filled his ribs.

Within every Durin paces a wolf. Unfettered, Fíli’s had run amok. Darting and dodging, footsteps muffled by moss, he’d circled wide around his prey and then pounced. Their roll across the forest floor had ended with him on top, pummeling with both fists. Something hard and slender had snapped beneath his knee; now he knew it was his foe’s elm-bark quiver, but in that moment he’d not cared if it was bone. 

Now the wolf was retreating, and Fili marveled at his own recklessness. How angry Kíli would be— and how distraught to find his fears made manifest! He sometimes crowed over his _nadad_ , but usually only to tease. He would not gloat about this, not when he saw the bruises.

In the deep shadows, the fawn had curled itself into a tight, defensive little ball, and Fíli felt a surge of pity. _Eh, taktith_ – little silent one – _I’m here again,_ he whispered. _You know I’m no wolf, don’t you?_

The fawn made no move except to twitch its ears in his direction.

S _hall I stay with you? Just until Mother returns?_

Another ear-twitch.

 _I’ll stay, then._ Fíli gingerly sat back against the oak’s trunk and drew his knees up to his chin, making himself small to show the fawn that they were two of a kind.

 _I got a new name today,_ he told it. _You should have one, too_.

Some bynames tell what a person _is_ ; other what he _does_ , and still others what he _has_ — or once had. More intimate are those names which express an emotion or a bond. _Umdamê –_ My Comfort, Kíli’s new name for his _yasthûn_ – was one such, and it was the kind of name Fíli chose now.

 _Manassasûn_ , he whispered again. _He Who Will Be Safe. I’ll make sure of it._

Two bells jingled rhythmically in the distance, silencing the katydid’s chorus as they came. Underbrush crackled, followed by a familiar whisper: _Step lightly, you ox!_ Then a saw-whet owl’s whistle: Ori. 

Fíli responded with two raven’s knocks. The fawn gave only a tiny start, then subsided, watching his guardian for cues.

Presently Ori and Ari slipped through a break in the trees. Fíli motioned toward the fawn, and the trio immediately switched to _iglishmêk_ , with Ori signing first.

_(Are you in one piece?)_

Fíli gave a tiny side-to-side shake of his head.

_(I’ll live.)_

( _We saw Dori. Who did he have in his clutches?)_

_(Poacher.)_

The two each stifled a gasp as Fíli called their attention to the arrow shaft jutting out of the tree trunk. Ori immediately drew his fingertips down over the center of his brow to the point between his eyes. Fíli wearily held up his hand, palm-side out.

_(Don’t worry. I’m guarding this little thing for her.)_

Ori’s lips pursed in a conspirator’s smile. He closed his eyes in assent, then jerked his chin in the direction of the path.

_(You rest. We’ll keep on.)_

The fawn swiveled his eyes to watch Ori and Ari depart. He could see in the dark as well as any Khuzd, and once he grew into a stag, he would see even better. For now, Mother had instructed him to be afraid of everything until she told him otherwise. Falling leaves, singing things, and the very smallest animals counted as safe. So did the Strange Pair, as Mother called them. Big animals they were, but not bigger than Mother; like bears they stood on their hind legs, she said, but the fawn had never seen a bear, so he had to believe her. The dark bear was larger, louder, clumsier; the light one smaller, slower, and very quiet. They played together and lay in the fallen leaves, and sometimes one or the other made bird-like sounds, so surely Mother must be right. 

Now here sat the light-colored little one, head tipped to one side, dozing in the dark! Satisfied, the fawn tucked his nose back under his hind leg, but kept his eyes open.

 _Somebody_ ought to take the night watch.


	10. Dawnlight

A cold wet nose and a chuff-chuff of warm breath against his neck roused Fíli from sleep. He half thought it to be Kíli snuggling closer as he did most mornings, but birdsong and cold dew on his cheek told him otherwise. 

Slitting open his eyes, he found himself looking at Dajnûna’s blessing-sign. If he tipped his head just slightly forward, they would be sharing breath; perhaps they were, only in the manner of her folk. Just past her shoulder, the fawn stood wobbling, eager and expectant; it clearly wanted to nurse the moment its mother was done thanking Fíli.

Finally she turned away, trailed by her knock-kneed offspring. Neither looked back. What need would there be for that? Only hunters followed.

___________________

As the four wood-wardens straggled through the gate, Kíli – loitering in wait since before sunrise – darted forward to catch at Fíli’s elbow. Spinning his brother around, he held him lightly by the shoulders, a hundred urgent questions burning in his eyes.

Fíli’s one smile answered them all.

Scents of salt and fresh seaweed clung to Kíli’s tunic, unchanged since the night before. Fíli pressed his face against it, breathing in as deeply as he might if he stood upon the headland. For his part, Kíli wanted only to take his _nadad_ upstairs. Those who stayed up all night on _il-lomil_ could sleep until dusk, when all would break their fast. 

Not that Kíli wished to sleep just yet. Sundown was hours and hours away, and other fasts could be broken sooner.


End file.
